Never Grow Up
by AspiringCatLady
Summary: Sherlock makes some new friends when he goes to daycare. Kid!Lock, Teen!Lock
1. Daycare and the Missing Lunchbox

_**Ages: **_

_Mycroft Holmes: 12_

_Greg Lestrade: 12_

_James Moriarty: 7_

_Irene Adler: 6_

_Molly Hooper: 6_

_John Watson: 5_

_Sherlock Holmes: 5_

* * *

Chapter One

"Mycroft I don't wanna go," Sherlock complained. He tried to plant his feet on the sidewalk, but his older brother tugged on his hand to make him continue walking.

"You have to," Mycroft said firmly. "I have school, so you have to stay in daycare until I leave. Mummy and Father can't watch you at home because of work. Don't worry. Next fall you'll start primary school, so you won't have to go anymore after that," he explained.

"It's not fair," Sherlock grumbled. He hopped over a puddle on the sidewalk. "It's stupid."

"Don't whine," Mycroft said, annoyed. If they didn't hurry, he would be late to school. "This is it," he and Sherlock stopped in front of a large blue building. A bright sign read '_The Yard: Children's Daycare And Year One Education_'. Mycroft ushered Sherlock in and signed him in. Mummy had taken care of registration the day before.

"Sherlock, behave yourself here," Mycroft warned. "It will only be 'til four o'clock. I'll see you later," he ruffled Sherlock's curly hair, much to his irritation, and left the building.

"Hi, Sherlock," a woman squatted down in front of the boy, her knees popping in reaction. "I'm Mrs. Hudson. Come with me," she smiled, standing up. She offered her hand to Sherlock, but he refused to take it.

"This," she said, walking Sherlock through a set of double doors, "is the play room. You're free to play games and talk with friends here. Most of the day is spent in the play room, but we have short classes everyday for two hours. The classes are usually around two o'clock, but it varies."

Sherlock looked around the large room, accessing all the people and toys. Kids were running in every direction, laughing and playing. In one corner of the room were at least a dozen bean bags, and in an adjacent corner were four different toy chests. Mummy had told him that it was the best public preschool in London. He believed her.

"Over there is the classroom," Mrs. Hudson pointed to a room opposite them. "That's where, well, classes are held. Snack time is taken in there, as well."

Sherlock nodded, but wasn't really listening. Mrs. Hudson seemed to realize it and said, "I'll leave you here, then. Have fun, dearie." She walked quickly out of the room, her floral dress flowing behind her.

"Great," Sherlock muttered to himself. He walked across to the bean bags and plopped heavily down on a purple one. He looked sulkily around the room. He had eight more hours of this, and then, he would have to be here until next _fall. _

"Hi."

Sherlock looked up to see a short blonde boy standing before of him. His shaggy hair fell over his blue eyes and he smiled widely. A large brown sweater drooped on him, making him seem shorter than he actually was. Sherlock didn't respond to the boy's greeting.

"I'm John. Is this your first day?" he asked, cocking his head to one side. Sherlock nodded, frowning at him. "Wanna pway with us?" he gestured to two girls behind him, who waved and smiled at Sherlock.

"No," Sherlock said bluntly. He looked away from John's surprised face.

"What?"

"No, I don't wanna play," he growled. John looked at him with confusion. He wasn't often turned down when he asked people to play with him.

"Why not?"

"Because, it's stupid," Sherlock spat. "I just wanna go home. This place is dull," he grumbled.

"Oh," John nodded, though he wasn't sure what 'dull' meant, he understood the 'homesick' feeling. "If you pway, time will pass fast," he said.

Sherlock eyed the boy suspiciously, but hey, he didn't have anything else to do. "Okay," he pouted.

"Wha's your name?" John asked.

"Sherlock," he mumbled. He followed John to where the two girls who waved at him were standing.

"Hi, I'm Irene," one girl said with a grin. Her brown hair was tied in a neat bun on her head.

"I'm Molly," the other girl blushed shyly. She twirled her fingers nervously in her blue dress.

Sherlock just looked at them, not saying a word. Molly shifted uncomfortably and Irene was curious as to what the boy was thinking. "He's Sherlock," John said to break the silence. "I asked him to pway with us."

"Let's play then," Irene said. She grabbed Sherlock by the wrist and dragged him over to the toy chests in the corner. He struggled to get out of her grip, but she was stronger than him. John and Molly followed behind the two. "Here," she said, handing Sherlock a doll wearing a purple dress. She then retrieved three more dolls, one for her, Molly, and John.

"I don't play with _dolls," _Sherlock said, tossing the toy on the floor. "They're boring."

Irene looked at him with shock. She held her mermaid doll close to her chest, "Don't say that!" she gasped, covering her doll's ears. Sherlock scoffed at her.

"Don't fight," John said, stepping in between Sherlock and Irene. "Let's do something else, otay?" he suggested. Sherlock looked at the boy with annoyance. His inability to pronounce words bugged him. Sherlock had spent hours learning new words and perfecting how to say them, had John not done the same?

Irene sent Sherlock a glare before smiling once more. "I guess that's fine," she nodded, mispronouncing "that's."

"Why can't any of you talk good?" Sherlock asked. Irene frowned at him, Molly shuffled her feet, and John sighed.

"Why are you mean?" John asked with an edge to his voice. Dealing with this new kid was proving to be more difficult than he had hoped.

Sherlock looked at him with surprise. John had been very friendly until now. He began to think that he should be nicer to him, Irene, and Molly. "Sorry," Sherlock mumbled. John grinned as if he had just won a prize.

"Let's pway now," he said happily. Sherlock grumpily agreed.

* * *

Sherlock walked into the play room and shoved his backpack and coat in his cubbie. He had been attending daycare for two weeks now, and didn't hate it as much. He wished that he could just be in school like Mycroft, but Mummy said he couldn't sign up until next year.

"Hey, Sherlock," John greeted when his friend joined him in the bean bag corner. Irene and Molly sat in one bean bag together next to him.

"Hi," he sank into a blue bean bag and was about to speak, but paused when he saw Molly. She looked sad. "What's wrong?" he asked awkwardly. He was still getting used to this whole 'friends' thing.

"N-nothing," she blushed. She fumbled with her fingers, which had pink nail polish on them. Sherlock continued to watch her, so she continued, "It's just, um, I wost my wunchbox."

"I'll find it for you," he said after a second of silence, standing up. "Where did you last have it?"

"The cubbies," she answered.

"What's it look like?" he asked.

"It has Hewo Kitty on it."

Sherlock marched off to the cubbies, his three friends following behind. He looked in each cubbie hole, under the shelves, and around the area. John, Irene, and Molly watched silently, wondering why he offered to look for it. Sherlock wasn't exactly the type to help people out.

"Not here," Sherlock muttered. He traveled to the toy chests and looked thoroughly through them without any success. "Hmmm…"

"Do you have any emenies?" Sherlock asked Molly. "Anyone acting suspicious?" he struggled to say the last word, a word he heard his brother use often. He ended up pronouncing it 'suspisis.' Sherlock practiced talking clearly every day, but still had some trouble controlling his tongue.

Molly cocked her head in confusion. "No, I don't tink so," she said.

Sherlock nodded with pursed lips. He stood still for a moment, thinking. He then strode over to the bean bag corner where his friends had been sitting when he arrived. He huffed as he pulled the heavy bags away from the corner one at a time. When he pulled back a green bean bag, Molly laughed and ran forward.

Sitting on the ground was a pink Hello Kitty lunchbox. "Thanks, Sherlock!" Molly hugged Sherlock, who froze with shock.

He cleared his throat and said, "No problem. I'm good at solving mysteries."

Molly, Irene, and John laughed, but Sherlock didn't understand why. Despite his confusion, he laughed along with them, too. He felt like he was part of the 'group,' like he was accepted by these kids. By his friends.


	2. Pirate Play

Chapter Two

"Sherlock, come on, we don't have time for this," Mycroft nagged his brother. Sherlock was standing with his nose pressed against a shop's display window. Mycroft sighed and walked to his side, looking to see what had his brother so mesmerized.

"Mycroft, look at it!" Sherlock gasped. His eyes combed over every inch of the pirate costume in the window. Mycroft looked at the price resting against the window.

"It's fifteen pounds, Sherlock, we can't buy it," Mycroft said gently. He watched his brother's face fall with sadness. "Come on, let's go," he picked Sherlock's hand up in his own and pulled him away from the pirate play set in the window. Sherlock pouted all the way to daycare.

* * *

Mycroft leaned back in his chair as his teacher did a simple math problem on the whiteboard. He chewed on his pencil eraser and stared out the window, thinking. He couldn't help but feel guilty about not being able to buy that pirate costume for Sherlock. Mycroft couldn't remember very many times when his little brother looked at something with such awe and admiration.

He eyed the clock ticking slowly on the wall. Only four minutes until school was over. He slid his binder and notebooks into his messenger bag that had been lying across the back of his chair. The teacher looked at him with annoyance, but didn't call him out. As soon as the bell rang, Mycroft walked quickly out the door, draping his bag across his chest.

"Hey, wait up!"

Mycroft turned to see Greg Lestrade jogging to his side. He was still stuffing his notebooks in his backpack. "Sorry, Greg," Mycroft apologized. "I just wanted to get home early."

"Don't worry 'bout it," Greg said. "Why're you in such a hurry?" he paused when a girl flagged him down and tried to talk to him. Mycroft didn't stop walking, but Greg quickly caught back up.

"No particular reason," Mycroft shrugged, continuing their conversation. "I just need to talk with Mummy soon," he said. He adjusted his black tie under his uniform vest.

"Are you picking up your little brother today?"

Mycroft silently cursed at himself. He was rushing to get home to talk to Mummy _about_ Sherlock, but he completely forgotten about picking him up from daycare. "Uh, yes. I am," he sighed.

"Well, I guess I'll see you later, then?" Greg asked.

"Uh-huh. Goodbye Greg," he gave a half way in Greg's direction. Greg stopped walking with his friend and joined a group of guys standing near the school steps.

Mycroft glanced at his watch. Mummy would be home from work in about ten minutes. He sped up his walking pace. In just three minutes, he arrived at The Yard and picked up Sherlock. "You're late," Sherlock observed as they walked home.

"Yeah, I am," Mycroft said in an almost mocking tone. "I ran late at school."

"Hmm," Sherlock hummed, sounding thoughtful. Mycroft ignored him.

"Sherlock," he said in a scolding manner, "did you brush your hair today?" he looked at the tangled curls resting on his younger brother's head.

"Yes," Sherlock answered.

"You're lying," Mycroft said. "Don't try to fool me. You need to brush that 'rat's nest' every day, or it will get matted. You don't want to shave all your hair off, do you?"

Sherlock gave his brother a dagger-y glare and grunted, "No."

Mycroft checked the time again. They were nearly home, now, and he assumed Mummy was as well. He had maybe fifteen minutes until she laid down for her 'after work nap.'

"Why are you rushing?" Sherlock questioned. He and Mycroft were speed walking, verging on jogging.

"I have something I want to discuss with Mummy," he repeated for the second time that day.

"What about?"

"None of your business," Mycroft answered, rustling Sherlock's knotted hair.

"Stop doing that," Sherlock whined, pulling out of his brother's reach. Mycroft laughed.

* * *

Mycroft knocked quietly on Mummy's door. "Come in," called her voice after a second. He pushed open the door, shutting it behind him, and walked to where she sat on her large bed. "Mycroft, darling, come sit with Mummy," she patted the mattress next to her. Her oldest son obeyed.

"Mummy," he said from her side, "I wanted to ask you something."

"What is it dear?" she asked, brushing out her silky hair.

"I, uh, was wondering if I could have fifteen pounds," he said in a very soft voice.

"What on _Earth _do you need that kind of money for? Your father gives you a weekly allowance already," she scoffed.

"It's just… Well, Sherlock really want this pirate costume, and it costs fifteen pounds. I don't have enough to buy it myself," Mycroft explained. He watched his mother's grey eyes that were focused on her hair.

"I'm sorry, Mycroft, but I can't do that," she said, not sounding very apologetic. At all. Mycroft nodded and left the room silently, his head hanging with disappointment. He went back to his room and removed his money stash from underneath his closet flooring. He kept all his money in a small shoebox, hidden under removable wood planks.

Mycroft dumped the contents of his shoebox/bank on the ground and counted up the earnings. He had six pounds saved up. He sighed. Why couldn't Mummy just give him the cash? The Holmes' were very wealthy, so why wouldn't she use some of that wealth to make her son happy?

He shook that thought out of his mind. Father didn't like Mycroft thinking things like that. He said it was disrespectful. Mummy must have had a reason, surely.

…

"Here's your allowance, Mycroft," Mr. Holmes' deep voice said as he handed his son three pounds. He then proceeded to give Sherlock his money.

"Thank you, Father," Mycroft said, bowing his head. He rushed to his bedroom and immediately went back to his stash of money. He carefully lined up the currency and counted. He counted once, and then again, just to be sure.

"Yes!" he grinned to himself. He had seventeen pounds accumulated. It had been two weeks since Sherlock had seen the pirate outfit, but Mycroft was determined to buy it. He sighed to himself. He had hoped to buy a new umbrella, but it would be worth it to buy the costume for Sherlock. When he gave it to him, Sherlock would be overjoyed.

* * *

"See you at four, Brother," Mycroft said farewell to Sherlock as he disappeared inside the daycare. He walked the path towards school, but had no intentions to go in today. He had called before leaving the home, pretending to be the housekeeper. He told the school that he was ill, so he had been excused for the day.

Mycroft walked happily to the clothing store, which sold the pirate costume. "Excuse me, sir," Mycroft said to the man behind the counter.

"What'd'ya want?" the fat man asked grumpily. He was resting on a stool and breathing heavily. Mycroft could smell a mixture of garlic and paprika on the man's breath.

"I'd like to buy the pirate costume. The one that was on display a few weeks ago," he answered. His hand fiddled with the money in his pocket.

The man eyed Mycroft from head to toe, no doubt to try to figure out what kind of life he lived. It was obvious he was a kid from a wealthy family. He wore a blue uniform that was given out by the best private school in London, was very well mannered, and just overall looked smart.

"Get lost, kid," the man spat. Mycroft looked at him with shock but replaced it with a devious glare.

The boy leaned over the counter slightly, so he was closer to the nasty old man. "Listen, _sir," _Mycroft growled. "It's obvious that you're cheating on your wife. Though I don't know how anyone would want a relationship with _you, _let alone _two _people, but no matter how repulsive that is, it's happening. Now, I'm sure you don't want your wife to find out, so why don't you just sell me the pirate outfit and I'll be on my way," Mycroft said. His words oozed with charming venom.

The man's eyes widened. "H-how did you know that?" he yelled.

"A simple thing called _deduction," _Mycroft sneered. "Now are you going to sell me the suit?"

The man gave a disgruntled moan of anger, but disappeared to a back room. He returned to the cash register carrying a large cardboard box. He set it on the counter and snarled, "Fifteen pounds."

"I'll give you seven pounds for it," Mycroft smiled smugly, offering the money to the obese man. He snatched it out of Mycroft's hand and shoved the box into his arms.

"Get out of my store," he barked. Mycroft left the store with the box in his hands and a grin on his face.

* * *

"Sherlock, come up to my room for a minute," Mycroft said when he and his brother returned home from daycare and 'school.' "I have a surprise for you." Sherlock followed his brother to his room. He was curious what Mycroft considered to be a surprise.

"Ta-da!" Mycroft said. He pulled a white sheet off of his desk chair. He had set the pirate clothes up on the chair before going to pick Sherlock up from daycare.

"Woah…" Sherlock gasped. He looked at his older brother and smiled hugely. "For me?" he asked

"All yours," Mycroft nodded. He was enjoying every bit of Sherlock's expression at the moment. The boy's eyes shone as he stared at the outfit. He began to gingerly pull the articles of clothing off of the chair and over his own clothes.

"This is so cool!" Sherlock yelled when he was fully dressed as a criminal of the sea. The pirate coat dragged behind him on the ground when he ran up to the mirror to see how he looked. He had an eye patch across his left eye, a plastic hook on his hand, and a wooden sword in his other hand.

"It's a little big, isn't it?" Mycroft asked apologetically. He looked at the droopy clothes. It looked like they were made to fit a small teenager. "Sorry about that."

"It's perfect," Sherlock grinned. He turned to look his brother in the eye. "Thank you, Mycroft."

* * *

"Arrgh!" Sherlock growled. Mycroft stood across the room, armed with a plastic sword. "You think you've beat me, Bootleg Mycroft? No one beats me, the Great Dreadful Pirate."

Mycroft smirked. "Well I've got Scully working for me. And that precious teddy bear of yours, too," he said with as much of an accent as he could.

"What? No! Traitors!" Sherlock yelled to the eye patch wearing skull and teddy bear sitting on his bed.

"There's no way out, Dreadful," Mycroft mocked. He crouched and held his sword out, ready for battle.

"There's always a way out," Sherlock rumbled. He let out a roar and lunged at the teddy bear and skull. He swung his wooden sword as hard as he could, sending the bear across the room and making Scully fall to the ground with a 'thump.'

"You've defeated them?" Mycroft asked with faked astonishment. He didn't often play with his younger brother, but he was starting to get the hang of acting like a pirate. He hardly ever saw Sherlock so active and playful, and found it quite refreshing.

"Just you an' me now, eh?" Sherlock held his sword out, much like his brother, holding on to it with his hand and plastic hook.

"I won't go down easily," Mycroft warned. Sherlock darted forward, swinging his sword at his older sibling. Mycroft blocked the blow with his own weapon. They each took turns trying to injure the other, but every hit was obstructed by the other's sword.

"Argh!" Sherlock yelled, swinging blindly. The wood made contact with Mycroft's arm.

"No! Yee hit me!" Mycroft gasped, sinking to his knees. He clutched at his arm, acting as if it had just been severed off by the Great Dreadful Pirate. "I'll get revenge… from beyond… the grave…" he gasped as he feigned dying and fell stomach-down on the floor.

Sherlock grinned and giggled. "I win!" he proclaimed. Mycroft got to his feet and abandoned his pirate accent.

"Yes, you win," he said, ruffling the boy's hair. Sherlock didn't even fight it too much. "Now, you might wanna take that pirate outfit off. Dinner should be ready soon. You don't want to get it dirty."

"Okay," Sherlock groaned. "But I'm putting it back on after!" he called after his brother in the hallway. Mycroft chuckled. Though Sherlock was often troublesome, he had fun playing with him. Sherlock was like a completely different kid when he was playing a game of Pirates.


	3. Merry Christmas, Sherlock!

_This chapter took forever to write. I worked on it for about four days. I hope you like it, because I sure do :)_

* * *

Chapter Three

_**December 12th**_

"That hat's so stupid!" Sherlock giggled at John. The blonde boy was prancing around, showing off his new hat. It was green and pointy, with felt ears on the side and about thirty red and green bells.

"I don't care what you say," John replied with a smile. "Mummy bwought it for me and I wuv it."

"I tink it's cute," Irene said. She was playing with the hat's ears.

"See? _She _knows it's coo," John said smugly.

"I never said cool," Irene corrected, much to Sherlock's amusement. "I said cute." John looked at her with an offended expression and Sherlock laughed at his friends. John sat next to Sherlock in a bean bag, opposite to where Molly sat on Sherlock's other side.

"So, Sherlock, what are you doing for Cwistmas?" he asked curiously. He held his head held still so his friend wasn't drowned out by the sound of bells.

"Uh," Sherlock hesitated. Mummy and Father didn't like to celebrate holidays, Christmas was no different. The most of a Christmas he usually got was a small present from his brother, but Mycroft had gotten him that Pirate costume a few months ago, so he didn't think he'd be getting anything this year. "You know, just staying home with my family," he lied. He highly doubted Mummy or Father would be home on Christmas day.

"Coo," John smiled. "I'm going to Gwandma's house. We go e'ry year. It's super fun and my cousins and uncles and aunts all come," he ranted. "Wast year Grampa showed me how to use a bee bee gun. I shot cans off fences from very far away."

"You should work on saying your L's," Sherlock muttered. The festive boy in front of him continued to talk as if he hadn't said anything. Sherlock blocked out John's talking bitterly. He didn't want to think of the upcoming holiday.

* * *

"How was daycare?" Mycroft asked as he and his little brother walked home. Sherlock muttered what sounded like a 'fine,' but didn't look up from the sidewalk. The curly haired boy was watching each of his steps with deep concentration. Mycroft could tell something was wrong. "What's the matter?" he sighed, watching his brother.

"Nothing," Sherlock grumbled. He kicked at a small stone on the sidewalk, sending it flying. It came to a stop on a car's tire.

"Don't do that," Mycroft warned. Sherlock kicked at another stone defiantly. "Okay," the older boy stopped walking and turned Sherlock so he was facing him. "Tell me what's on your mind, Brother."

Sherlock looked up through his curled–and slightly tangled– hair with uncertainty in his eyes. Eventually, he folded at Mycroft's stern 'tell me everything' expression and said, "It's just… Christmas."

"Could you explain more fully?" his elder brother asked teasingly but gently at the same time.

"John's been talking nonstop about his holiday plans," the young boy mumbled, shuffling his feet and avoiding eye contact with Mycroft. "And Molly and Irene, too. I just don't understand why we don't celebrate it."

Mycroft exhaled noisily and he and Sherlock began to walk again. "Sherlock, Mummy and Father, you know they don't like holidays. There's not much we can do," he said. He tried to keep harsh thoughts out of his mind about their parents. He, too, had struggled with the same thing when he started school. Eventually, though, he had grown accustom to the lack of festivity in the Holmes household.

Sherlock walked silently, his arms crossed over his chest. Mycroft tried to deduce what he could from his younger brother's appearance as he could, but Sherlock had grown exceptionally talented at hiding things from him. "Why?" Sherlock asked quietly. Though Mycroft couldn't see his eyes, he suspected his sibling was frowning deeply.

"I don't know," Mycroft shrugged. "I'm sorry, Brother, but I don't think this year's Christmas will be any different than last's." At this point, the two boys had arrived home, each going their separate ways. Mycroft walked to his room and plopped with exhaustion onto his bed.

Holidays weren't often a happy subject for the Holmes family. Mycroft could remember more than one Christmas or Easter where Mummy slept the day away and Father came home reeking of alcohol. Mycroft rolled over and buried his face in his pillow with a shiver, not wanting to think of Father when he was drunk.

Mycroft wished deeply that he could give Sherlock a good Christmas, but had no idea how to. Slowly, the boy rose off his bed and paced back and forth in his room, deep in thought. Perhaps he could convince Mummy or Father to give him money to buy Sherlock presents? Maybe if Mummy and Father thought they wouldn't have to be involved, they'd help him out. Mycroft continued to pace and ponder until he was tired and had a semi-formed plan.

* * *

_**December 20**_

Sherlock followed John regretfully into the class room. His friend had been talking about Christmas at his grandma's house all day. He gave details of every single event that happened last year and even everything he _ate._ The curly haired boy didn't really like having class, but it would make John stop talking for several hours, so that was a plus.

Sherlock sank into his chair and stared blindly at Mrs. Hudson. He knew it was silly to be in such a foul mood just because John was talking about the holidays. After all, Christmas was only a week away. Just about every kid in daycare (excluding Sherlock, of course) was anxious for the day to come.

"Okay, kids," Mrs. Hudson said at the front of the room. Her hands were clasped together and she smiled her friendly grin at all the children. "Christmas is almost near, have you all sent in your lists to Santa?" The room filled with 'yes'es and applaud. Sherlock sat forward in his chair and scowled. These kids thought Santa was real?

"Wha's wrong?" John asked. He was grinning and had been nodding at their teacher a moment before.

"Why's everyone clapping?" Sherlock asked. He was deeply confused. Mycroft had informed him several years ago that Santa wasn't real. Had the other kids not been told yet? "Santa's not even real."

John's smile faltered. For a second, Sherlock could see sadness in his friend's eyes, but it disappeared as quickly as it came. "Whatever, Sherlock," he shrugged with a hint of annoyance in his voice. John had become very good at not taking Sherlock's opinions words to heart.

"This is stupid," Sherlock said, standing up. Every pair of eyes in the room settled on him, the sound from conversations vanishing. Sherlock's face went slightly red from the attention, but he continued to speak what he thought. "How can you all believe a fat man can go all the way around the world, bringing presents and coming down chimenies," he said, mispronouncing 'chimneys.' Though Sherlock prided himself on his ability to read big words and pronounce stuff correctly, when he was speaking with feeling (usually anger), his pronunciation skills dwindled. "It's stupid. Just a story your parents tell you. They're the ones who leave the presents and–"

"Sherlock!" Mrs. Hudson interrupted. He looked at her. She was staring at him with a fierce, upset face. Sherlock gazed around for the first time since he had begun to talk. All the smiling faces had turned to frowns, and a couple of kids were even crying. What had happened? Sherlock was just telling the truth. "Come with me," Mrs. Hudson growled. She grasped Sherlock around the arm tightly and led him out of the room. Sherlock glanced behind him before crossing through the door to see Molly with tears in her eyes, John shaking his head, and Irene with a small smile. He could tell she knew Santa wasn't real, too.

Sherlock lost sight of his friends as Mrs. Hudson led him with a purpose down the hallway. He gulped when he realized where he was going. The daycare's punishment office. The man who owned the daycare had an office where bad kids were sent. He was very sure that that was where he was going. But Sherlock hadn't been bad, had he? All of this was seriously confusing to him. Mrs. Hudson entered the man's office and then left in a hurry. A moment later a voice carried to Sherlock in the hall. "Mr. Holmes, come in here," a deep voice grunted.

Sherlock cautiously entered the office, almost letting out a chuckle when he saw the 'man in charge.' The man was balding and as round as a balloon, looking to be no more than five feet tall. All of Sherlock's worries disappeared as he sat in a comfortable green chair near the man's wooden desk. A plaque on the desk read _Mr. William Robinson._

"Mr. Holmes, I understand you were telling the kids in your–uh, first year class is it?" he said, looking at a sheet of paper," – that Santa Claus isn't real?" the man spoke as if it were a question.

"Yes, that's right," Sherlock replied coolly. He tried to sound as smart as he could; imitating things he had often seen Mycroft do in front of Mummy and Father, and basically anyone else with power. "He isn't real. I don't know why'd I'd be in trouble for telling the truth, since you all tell me to be honest. "

The balding man rubbed his thumbs against his thick temples. "Your parents may have told you that the 'man in red' isn't real, but–"

"My brother," Sherlock interrupted.

"Excuse me?"

"My brother told me Santa's fake. Not my parents," Sherlock corrected. He fought the smile tugging at his lips at the man's frown.

"_Fine," _Mr. Robinson sighed. "You're brother may have informed you that _Santa Claus _doesn't exist, but surely you are aware that other children still believe." Sherlock watched the man with a blank expression. He did not know that. "Anyway, Mr. Holmes, we cannot have you telling the other kids he isn't real. When the other children's parents decide that they should no longer believe in the magical gift-giver, _they _will tell them, not you."

The heavy man looked at Sherlock expectantly. "Is that all?" Sherlock asked flatly.

"Yes, almost. Unfortunately, I can't reverse your… _speech _in class, but tomorrow, I want you to apologize to your classmates," the man said firmly. Sherlock nodded bitterly. He didn't think he had anything to say sorry for, but he would have to do it. "You will remain in the office until you are picked up. Good day, Mr. Holmes," he said forcefully. He leaned back in his chair and it groaned under his weight. As the curly haired boy left, he bitterly wished the chair would give out and break.

Sherlock sat on the wooden bench in the office. He was completely and utterly bored, and every now and then, he let out a groan to let the receptionist know. She ignored him the best that she could.

* * *

When Mycroft got to the daycare, a little past four o'clock, he was angry. The daycare had called the school's office when Mummy had failed to answer her phone, since he was well known as Sherlock's major caretaker. They gave him a note telling about Sherlock's 'incident.' The elder Holmes boy stayed silent as he picked Sherlock up, but when they were out of the building, he let out his anger.

"What were you thinking?" he shook his head. "You don't just go yelling 'Santa's not real' around a _daycare, _Sherlock!"

"I didn't know that!" the younger boy defended. "It's not like anyone bothered to tell me!" he shouted, his arms thrown up in the air. He glanced at his brother, who looked slightly pained for a millisecond, and then it was gone.

"You should have kept your bloody mouth shut," Mycroft growled. "They called Mummy, did you know? Luckily, she didn't answer, so they called me at school. I swear you are always trying to upset her."

"Am not!" Sherlock yelled, stopping abruptly. His face was red with fury. "You're the one who's always upsetting her, not me! I don't do anything to bother her!" his voice was wavering and his pronunciation was horribly distorted with his anger.

"You always are getting yourself into trouble! There's no behaving for you!" Mycroft raised his voice, his neck veins popping out. "You don't make any effort to help Mummy. It's no wonder she doesn't like you!" Mycroft regretted his words as soon as they left his mouth. He watched as pain and hurt filled Sherlock's face. The small boy's eyes quickly began to gleam in the sun, moisture growing. His mouth started to twitch.

"Sherlock…" Mycroft reach out for his brother's shoulder, but Sherlock pulled away roughly. He ran away from his sibling as fast as he could. "Sherlock!" Mycroft shouted after him. He was going in the opposite direction of their home. He let out a groan of frustration and ran after his younger brother. Sherlock tried to lose him by running into a small forest behind some houses, but Mycroft followed without delay. He ran after the curly hair boy, though at some point he lost sight of him. He ran around in the forest for what seemed to be a long time. Soon, the sun started to lower in the sky, removing its light from the areas. Mycroft felt anxiety start to rise in his stomach. His little brother was lost in the dark forest, all alone, and it was all Mycroft's fault.

"Sherlock," Mycroft called quietly into the forest. He was happy for once that this winter had been very mild; at least he didn't have to worry about Sherlock being too cold. He repeated Sherlock's name at different volumes until it sounded completely unfamiliar and awkward. "Sherlock, where are you?" The forest stayed silent. "Listen, Brother, I'm sorry. I didn't mean it," he apologized. He stumbled forward, his foot caught on a tree root. He softy cursed to himself.

"Sherlock!" he tried again with desperation. He was about to turn around when he thought he saw something in the distance. Behind a cluster of leaves, it looked like there was light. Not sunlight or fire, but artificial light. He hurried as quickly as he could to the source, knowing his careless movements left twigs and organic debris in his hair.

Mycroft pushed aside a large collection of branches and sighed with relief. There, lying on the dark grass was his little brother. Sherlock was curled into a tight ball, a lit flashlight clutched between his small hands. Mycroft had always told the boy to keep an emergency flashlight in his backpack, and apparently he had listened.

The older boy approached Sherlock carefully, but he didn't move. Mycroft assumed by the lack of response and his even breathing that Sherlock had fallen asleep. Carefully, Mycroft removed the flashlight from his brother's hand and held it in his own. He hooked his arms underneath Sherlock's legs and around his back, lifting him from the ground. The boy stirred slightly, grabbing a hold of Mycroft's school uniform and pressing his dirty face against his chest.

Mycroft struggled to support his brother's weight, but somehow managed to leave the forest without dropping him. He huffed heavy breaths as he carried Sherlock home. When he finally reached their large grey house, he carefully shifted Sherlock's weight and opened the door. Mycroft carried Sherlock to his room, laying the boy on his large bed. He untied Sherlock's dirty shoes and tossed them aside.

Sherlock's eyes opened softly, still heavy with sleep. He looked at Mycroft with his tear stained face. "Sherlock," Mycroft said quietly, "I'm really sorry about what I said. I didn't mean it, I was just angry. But, I mean, I know I shouldn't have been angry with you in the first place. You didn't know what you were doing wasn't good. I'm sorry, Brother."

Sherlock nodded somberly; it looked as if more tears were rising in his eyes. Mycroft covered the small boy with a blanket and left the room when he was certain that Sherlock was asleep again. He returned to his own room, worn out from the day's events. It wasn't until he was half unconscious that he realized no one had noticed he and Sherlock didn't return home. Nobody had cared or known of their absence.

* * *

_**December 23**_

Sherlock went nervously into daycare, holding his bag of presents close to his chest. He entered the play room, which was decorated for the holidays. Silver and gold tinsel and rainbow lights lined the walls and ceiling, there was a Christmas tree–decked with handmade ornaments and a picture of each of the kids who attended daycare–set up near the edge of the room. Stacks of small presents lined the base.

"Sherlock!" John ran excitedly up to his friend; Molly and Irene following closely behind.

"Merwy Almost Chris'mas!" Molly grinned widely and hugged Sherlock. She pulled back quickly, her and Sherlock both blushing. Her freckles seemed to be more noticeable today, probably from her enthusiasm and flushed face.

"You, too," Sherlock smiled back. He felt his nerves begin to settle. "Uh, where do I put the presents?" he asked, holding up the bag awkwardly.

"Under the twree, for now anyway," Irene answered, gesturing to the fake tree.

"We're opening them soon," John said. He had on his green bell-ridden hat and was bouncing on his heels with an eager look in his eyes.

* * *

Sherlock, John, Molly, and Irene sat in a circle with the rest of the daycare kids. They each had a stack of presents in front of them, each varying in size. Sherlock had four gifts resting near him. He had one from Mr. Hudson and the rest of the daycare staff, one from Molly, another from Irene, and a larger one given to him by John. They all sat relatively quietly as a girl named Una opened her five gifts.

The blonde girl received a notebook from Mrs. Hudson, and several different coloring books from four friends. Next, a boy opened his two presents, and then it was Irene's turn. She sat looking hungrily at her gifts, waiting for Mrs. Hudson to tell her she could open them. When Mrs. Hudson gave her consent, Irene ripped open her first present. This one was from John.

"Cool," she said, holding up the gift. It was a colorful book with rainbow beads and string attached to it.

"It's a bracewet kit," John explained. "You can make pwetty stuff with it." Irene thanked him and moved on to Sherlock's poorly wrapped present. She pulled away the green paper to see a model magazine. She flipped through the first couple of pages and grinned at Sherlock.

"You're always saying you want to be a model," he shrugged. This whole gift exchange thing felt weird for him. Next were Mrs. Hudson's present (a set of sweet-smelling pencils) and then Molly's. Irene opened the gift and revealed a shpereical unicorn with glittery pink eyes.

"Thanks Moll," she giggled. Mrs. Hudson passed her the clear trash bag and Irene shoved in her shredded wrapping paper. Now it was Molly's turn. Her first gift from Irene was a Rapunzel doll, her present from John was a Hello Kitty thermo that matched her lunchbox, and from Mrs. Hudson she received a diary. From Sherlock, Molly got a Disney princess coloring book.

"Thank you guys," she said, blushing slightly at everyone staring at her.

"Sherlock, you can go ahead and open yours now," Mrs. Hudson told him with a smile. She had forgiven him for the Santa incident.

Sherlock nodded timidly and started to carefully open his first present, the one from Mrs. Hudson. Unlike everyone before him, the curly haired boy removed the wrapping paper so that it was still in one piece. Mrs. Hudson had given him a set of science-y erasers (shaped like molecules, test tubes, goggles, and beakers). Next, he unwrapped Irene's gift. It was a fingerprint kit.

"You can use it to take fingerpwints," Irene told him. "You can take fingerpwints off almost anything."

Sherlock thanked her and moved on. He opened Molly's gift, getting more careless with how he removed the wrapping paper. He pulled a dragon plushie out of the mess of pink and purple wrapping paper. Then, Sherlock picked up John's gift and started to open it. It was a little larger than his other gifts, and when the blue paper was removed, he saw a set of action figures.

"It's Loki and Odin," John said with happiness gleaming in his eyes. "I've got a Thor action figwure, so we can pway togeter with them sometime!"

"Thanks," Sherlock smiled, disposing of his trash. He made an effort to give each of his friends a thankful comment and grin.

"My turn, my turn!" John said to Mrs. Hudson, who nodded in returned. John tore his first present's wrapping paper to shreds. He held up the set of plastic green Army men to show the other kids, Irene's gift. Then, he opened Mrs. Hudson's to find a storybook with a hen on the cover. From Molly, he got a superhero toy. When John started to unwrap Sherlock's gift, Sherlock tapped his fingers on the carpet anxiously. What if John didn't like what Sherlock gave him?

"Tanks, Sherlock," John giggled. He held up the hedgehog toy dressed as a doctor to show it off. When Sherlock had seen it, he had immediately thought of his best friend, so he bought it. Sherlock blushed softly and shrugged. John thanked his other friends and Mrs. Hudson for his gifts.

* * *

Mycroft sat with his notebook on the sidewalk. He had picked Sherlock up from daycare and gone to the park to think. He didn't look up from his scribbling when Greg sat next to him. "What're you doing?" Greg asked, looking over his friend's shoulder.

"I'm making a list," was all Mycroft replied. He didn't feel up for much conversation. It was important that he finished this list by tonight.

"What kind'a list?" Greg pestered.

"Presents I think Sherlock will like," he said, scratching another word into the paper. "You know, for Christmas."

"Woah, don't you think it's a little late for that?" Greg asked. "Considering Christmas is in _two days_," he laughed. His laughed stopped when he saw Mycroft's serious face.

"I've got to get at least some things for him, Greg. Mummy and Father–" Mycroft started to say, but stopped as soon as he realized what he was about to say. "Ah, never mind. I just need to make sure he has presents on Christmas."

"Your parents don't do that?" Greg questioned. He was watching a girl playing on the nearby playground with her older brother. "Mine do. I don't have to get gifts for Nancy," he said, referring to his little sister.

"No, they don't like holidays," Mycroft grumbled in a way to ward off anything more on the subject. Greg understood and didn't say another word about it. "Do you know where I can get a riding crop?"

Greg looked at Mycroft like he had grown another head. "A riding crop? Isn't your brother only five years old? Do you have horses at your house?"

Mycroft chuckled. "No, it would be for experiments, Greg. They can be very useful," he said. He laughed more and added, "Sherlock could probably use it to reach things on high shelves." Mycroft's watch gave two beeps, and he stood up, closing his notebook. "I gotta go, Gregory, I'll see you later. Have a good Christmas."

Mycroft hurried off towards town and Greg called a goodbye after him. He hurried to the first shop he needed to visit to buy Sherlock's presents. He had convinced Father to give him money to buy stuff for Sherlock. Father had agreed in providing money under the promise that he didn't have to participate in the celebration.

The oldest Holmes son quickly collected the things he need. He waited silently as the cashier rang up the six science books, three notebooks, and several science experiment kits. Mycroft went to four different stores, buying up anything he thought Sherlock would like, and getting a couple of things for himself. When he returned home, he went to his room as quietly has he could, lugging behind him all the gifts and three rolls of wrapping paper. He closed and locked the door and began to wrap all the presents.

* * *

_**December 25**_

Sherlock slid out of bed and trudged downstairs with a sad expression on his face. It was Christmas morning. Right now John would be eating cookies and wearing Santa hats with his family. All Sherlock would be doing is spending the day improving his reading skills. He moped into the kitchen, but stopped short when he saw Mycroft standing next to a table full of pancakes and eggs.

"Where'd those come from?" he asked, genuinely confused. All the servants were away for the holiday.

Mycroft chuckled at him and answered, "I made them, stupid. Eat up." The older boy sat and started to cut into a plate of pancakes. Sherlock watched him with a frown momentarily at being called 'stupid,' but he then he sat in front of his own plate of breakfast food.

"Why did you make them?" Sherlock questioned around a mouthful of bread and syrup.

Mycroft shrugged and cleared his mouth before talking. "I wanted to. I mean, it's Christmas. We shouldn't just be eating cereal. Consider this my gift to you," he said with a secretive smile. Sherlock ignored the secret hiding behind the smile, not wanting to talk about Christmas anymore. "Oh, I left my umbrella in the sitting room. Could you go get it for me? I want to take a walk after I finish eating and it looks like it may rain."

"No," Sherlock said simply.

"Please?"

"Get it yourself."

"Sherlock, go get my umbrella," Mycroft said forcefully, sounding agitated.

"No. You have legs," he replied, "use them."

"_Sherlock," _Mycroft growled.

"Fine!" Sherlock stood up with anger and stormed into the sitting room. Mycroft followed with a grin.

"Wha… what's all this?" Sherlock asked with doubt in his eyes. Sitting on and around the sofa were at least twenty different sized presents. Mycroft's smile widened at his little brother's surprised face.

"Yours," he said.

"All of it…?" the small boy asked faintly. At Mycroft's nod, his face turned up with happiness. He ran up to the stack and pulled a large box into his lap, reading the label marked with _From Mycroft. _"Can I open them? Can I?" he asked excitedly.

"Of course," Mycroft answered. He pushed over some gifts and sat on the sofa, watching his brother.

One by one, Sherlock ripped the wrapping paper off of the presents, and with every one his smile seemed to grow even more. As the pile of unopened presents began to lower, the curly haired boy had three different stacks of new belongings: _science_, _toys_, and _supplies_.

"You forgot one," Mycroft said, gesturing to a small box on the sofa's armrest. Sherlock picked it up without hesitation, but paused when he saw the 'from' tag. His mouth turned down and he looked up at his older brother with an unsure expression. "What?"

"It says it's from Mummy and Father…Is that right?" he asked quietly.

Mycroft smiled softly, but Sherlock could see the sadness in his eyes. "Of course it's right, Brother," he lied. Well, it wasn't _completely _a lie. Mummy and Father had earned the money that bought it, but Mycroft was the one who label it from them.

The corner of Sherlock's mouth turned up and he started to unwrap the gift. He opened this one much more carefully than the others, hardly ripping the red paper at all. He pulled off the cardboard box's lid and his grin grew widely.

"What is it?" Mycroft asked, leaning forward with fake curiosity.

"It's a Pirate ring! It's so cool," he giggled. He slid it onto it finger and admired it in the light. Mycroft smiled with pride. Sherlock looked up to his older brother and said, "Thank you, Brother. Thank you so much."

"I didn't–" Mycroft stuttered, "It was Mummy and Father who got you the ring, I just–"

"No," Sherlock interrupted. "Thank you for making Christmas happen. And for the presents."

"You're welcome, Sherlock," his brother said. "You deserved it."


	4. The Storm

Chapter Four

Sherlock bounced forward into a growing puddle, splashing water on both him and Mycroft. "Sherlock, I told you to stop that!" the elder Holmes boy scolded. "Get under the umbrella. You don't want to be sopping wet, do you?" he asked, pulling his little brother under the protection of the black umbrella.

"I don't care," Sherlock shrugged, mostly just to bother his sibling. His dark curls were already very wet anyway.

"Well I care," Mycroft said."You can't show up at daycare all wet."

Sherlock grumbled and walked unhappily under the umbrella. "It may storm today, Brother," the older boy said cautiously, receiving a glare from his brother.

"I'm not scared of storms anymore," Sherlock replied. "I like them," he added at Mycroft's unbelieving glance.

"Fine, fine. Whatever. I'll see you at four," Mycroft said, leading the younger boy to the daycare's door.

* * *

Sherlock skipped over to where John and Molly were sitting in the corner of the room. "What are you guys doing?" he asked as he sat next to them.

"Pwaying Uno. You wanna join?" John asked, looking up from his handful of cards.

"Uh, I don't really know how to play…" Sherlock replied sheepishly. He never played many games other than Pirates and Cluedo before coming to daycare.

"Don worry, we can teach you," Molly smiled.

"Okay," he smiled and scooted closer to them. The two made room for him, forming a triangular shape.

"Molly can you exwain the rules?" John asked. Molly went through an extensive list of rules, describing what each of the cards did, how to use them, and how to win. John passed out the starter cards and said, "D'you underswand?"

"I think so…" Sherlock nodded, focusing on each of his cards. He went through each of their uses with deep concentration. "Yeah I got it."

"Good," John grinned. "I'll start, and ten Molly, and ten you." The blonde boy laid the top card from the deck down (a red three) and he placed a red seven over it.

"Okay…" Molly stared at her deck in thought and then added a blue seven to the pile.

"So… I can put this one down?" Sherlock asked as he lowered a blue two.

"Yeah, good," Molly praised as John laid down a blue nine.

"Where's Irene?" Sherlock inquired. She was usually at daycare by now.

"Sick," Molly shrugged. "Or fwake sick…"

John giggled. "Hooky?" he asked.

"Hooky?" Molly looked at him with confusion.

"Staying home from schoow and pwetending to be sick. Harriet, my sissy, taught me that," John said.

"Huh. I never heard that word before," Sherlock observed with a scowl. He never saw it in Mycroft's dictionary.

"I tink-" Molly started to speak, but was interrupted by Mrs. Hudson.

"Everyone into the old classroom please," her nervous voice carried throughout the room. All the kids looked at her with confusion, but made their way to the room she stood next to.

"Old classroom?" Sherlock asked He hadn't been in that room before.

"We used to use it fo stuff," Molly shrugged.

"Ten we got a new one," John added. "Now we don't use tis one." By now they were in the small room with their peers.

"Okay everyone," Mrs. Hudson said, silencing the room. "We've got a tornado alert on us, so we're going to stay in here until it's over or your parents pick you up," she said. A couple of kids let out yelps at the word 'tornado.'

"I'll be just outside the door listening to the radio," she added before leaving the room. Sherlock watched as she sat outside the door frame with a bulky black radio. The speakers gave off static-y, robotic updates at a low volume. His attention was pulled away from the woman when the sound of thunder echoed in the room.

Sherlock smiled softly to himself. He used to be scared of storms, but Mycroft had helped him get over the fear. Now he found the sounds of storms to be very relaxing. He looked over as another boom sounded to see Molly with closed eyes and humming. On his other side John was curled into a ball and… shivering?

John was afraid of the storm? But he was so… well, John. He was always happy and unaffected by things. Sherlock hadn't seen many things make the blonde boy unhappy. Another crash of thunder roared and John shook with fear, letting out a small yelp.

"John?" Sherlock asked with concern. His friend barely moved his head away from his knees to look at him. Sherlock felt uneasy and wanted to comfort John. Cautiously, he reached over and picked up the boy's hand, interlocking their fingers.

John looked up at the curly haired boy with a grateful smile. He looked to be more relaxed when the next rounds of thunder and pelting rain sounded. Though at first Sherlock was unsure of whether or not to hold John's hand, he was glad it did. It seemed to help his friend cope with the storm and made him less scared.


	5. Holmes Dinner Party

Sorry for the long gap in updates. Since I've started high school I've just been so busy and on top of that, I've got a nice dam of writer's block in my head. I'll be on a semi-hiatus for now because I'm currently working on two school plays and then school itself. I'll update when I can. (For those of you who care, I've got the next chapter of Sherlock and Young John halfway finished)

Chapter Five

Sherlock rolled his shoulders uncomfortably and tugged at his tie. "Stop that," Mycroft ordered. He slicked down his hair with some weird gel and turned to his little brother. "Hold still," he said, picking up a comb. Sherlock jerked his head back when Mycroft started to comb through the tangled curls.

"This is stupid," the boy muttered. Mycroft rolled his eyes and continued to fix his brother's appearance. They were both wore similar suits, Sherlock's blue and Mycroft's brown, and matching ties. Mummy was throwing a dinner party for the family, so they had to look their very best for her.

"We have to do it for Mummy. Her friends and family are coming over, so behave, okay?" the eldest son asked. Sherlock nodded without enthusiasm. "Will you let me smooth out your hair?" he said with a gesture to his hair liquid. Sherlock shook his head. "I thought not."

"If they're friends and family, why do we have to dress up? When John visits family, he doesn't have to," the boy said curiously. Mycroft paused and looked at him, kneeling to be on the same level.

"John's family is different than ours. We are high ranked in society, and therefore have to look and act our best," Mycroft tried to explain.

"What do you mean we're 'high ranked?'"

"Basically, we have a lot of money and power," Mycroft replied with a short chuckle. "Now come on. Guests will be arriving soon."

Sherlock moved from where he was sitting on Mycroft's well-made bed and followed him to the door. The two boys left the room and silently descended the grand staircase. Mummy was standing idly in the parlor, a nearly empty wine glass in her hand.

"Ah, boys you look wonderful," she smiled. The tall woman bent down and pressed kisses to each of their foreheads. Her breath already smelled of alcohol. "You clean up so well."

"Thank you, Mummy," Mycroft replied sweetly and well-mannered. "You look beautiful as always." Mummy Holmes laughed and patted her son's face.

"Thank you, Sweetie. You and Sherlock go and set the table for me, alright?"

"Yes, Mummy," the elder boy bowed his head. He took Sherlock by the hand and led him out of the room. They covered the dining table with an elegant cloth and twelve sets of silverware. The doorbell rang just as they finished. "The first guests are here," Mycroft said, adjusting his brother's tie again. "Smile and behave. If someone compliments you, compliment them back, even if it's a lie."

"But you taught me―"

"Forget that tonight," Mycroft interrupted. "Tonight we are pleasing Mummy. Don't upset her by being rude."

"Fine," Sherlock sighed. He and Mycroft reentered the parlor to find Mummy Holmes standing with two very large women.

"Oh! Boys it's been so long!" one of the women squealed. She rushed forward and held Mycroft's face in her hands. "You're just so cute, Sherlock!"

"I'm Mycroft, Ma'am," the boy said lightly. He hugged the woman awkwardly and kept his smile plastered on his face. "You look lovely."

"Dear, you are just perfect!" she hooted. Her gaze moved to Sherlock and she wobbled to stand in front of him. "You _must _be Sherlock, then! You are adorable! I haven't seen you since you were just a baby." Sherlock grumbled a reply and hugged her, watching Mycroft's warning glare.

Guests continued to appear for the next half hour. Sherlock and Mycroft's cheeks were both red from all the affectionate pinching and their mouths were sore from smiling. Sherlock's smile, though, was tight and obviously fake. Mycroft seemed to have perfected the act of fake charisma, much to his little brother's surprise.

"Boys, will you help bring the food out?" Mummy asked when everyone was seated at the dining table.

"Of course," Mycroft nodded.

"But―" Sherlock started to object.

"Let's go, Sherlock," the elder boy smiled threateningly. Sherlock silently trailed behind him to the kitchen. "What did I tell you about behaving?" Mycroft asked when they were in the safety of the kitchen.

"But why do we even have servants if we're not gonna use them?" Sherlock asked, gesturing to a nearby chef. He gave him a nasty look, but didn't stop preparing food. "Why do _we _have to do this?"

"Because Mummy wants to impress them," he growled. He handed Sherlock a tray of starter salads and then picked up one of his own. "She wants to show them that we are the perfect kids and do as we're told. Remember, we are sweet and caring in her eyes, so you'd better act that way."

"This sucks," Sherlock said. He stopped walking and struggled with his tray of salads. "Why does Mummy _want _to impress them? It's stupid and makes no sense. If they're her friends and family, they should stay even if we're the worst kids ever!"

"That's not how it works," Mycroft sighed. His brother's ignorance about the 'real world' was tiring. He often found himself in charge of teaching him the ins and the outs of everything. "If we aren't 'worthy' of being around, if we are misbehaving hooligans, then they will leave. They won't talk to us and it wouldn't be good."

"But friends are with you even if you're bad. John's still my friend, and I'm not always good."

Mycroft slammed down his tray and took his brother by the shoulders, obviously upset. "Listen to me, Sherlock. I don't bloody care if it makes sense or not, you have to do this. Mummy _has _to stay happy, and if you're bad then Father will… well you _know _what he'd do. You don't want that right?"

"No," Sherlock whispered. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. "I'll be good."

"You'd better be. Now hurry up," Mycroft sighed. He picked up his tray and formed a large, fake grin. He and Sherlock reentered the dining room and passed out the appetizers.

Dinner passed painfully slowly in Sherlock's eyes. The guests all talked quietly, making the 'clinking' of silverware loud and obnoxious. Mycroft spoke to them as if he were an adult, using big words that even Sherlock didn't know. He hadn't gotten to the Q's in the dictionary yet...

When Sherlock was faced with questions, he tried his best to answer like Mycroft would. He smiled and nodded when spoken to and acted like he was listening, when, in reality, he wasn't paying any attention. Finally, he and Mycroft served desert and the first guests started to trickle out.

"Have a good evening," Sherlock said with a small bow to the very last person leaving. Mummy Holmes closed the door behind the woman and grinned at them.

"You two were great," she said, draining her glass of wine. "Mummy's a little tired. I'm going to turn in for the night. Good night, dearies."

"Good night, Mummy," the two Holmes boys said. They watched as she left and their facades immediately dropped. Sherlock sighed loudly and struggled to pull his tie off his neck.

"I never want to do that again," the curly haired boy groaned. "My face hurts and all those people were annoying."

"Most people are, unfortunately," Mycroft said, loosening his own tie. "But we have to be nice if we want to go anywhere in life."

"You sound like an old man," Sherlock laughed. His brother ruffled his hair and joined his laughter.

"Good night, Sherlock. Thank you for being good."

"Whatever," Sherlock yawned. He trudged out of the room and threw over his shoulder, "Good night, brother." He went to sleep feeling proud of himself. He had successfully made it through the night without upsetting Mummy or Mycroft.


End file.
